


For Khaine

by AlfhildWindrunner



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Dark Elves, F/M, Sacrifice, Warhammer - Freeform, druchii - Freeform, khainite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlfhildWindrunner/pseuds/AlfhildWindrunner
Summary: My first lil smutty story with elves.
Relationships: female dark elf/ male high elf
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	For Khaine

The priestess raises her arms and tilts her head towards the night sky, her body silhouetted by the flaming pyre behind her. Vaelren is close enough to see the pale scars, like delicate ribbons, across her skin and the blood that stiffens her crimson robes. “Praise Khaine!” She cries out to the baiting crowd gathered below. Her voice is breathy and laced with a primal hunger. “We give our thanks to the Prince of Death for delivering these Ulthuan traitors into our hands.” Her fiery gaze snaps to Vaelren and a wicked smile dances across her face. “Bring me the next offering.” 

Two attendants, wearing nothing but red cloaks and painted with bloody runes, approach him. Their faces flushed pink and their heavy breasts heaved with excitement. Vaelren twists his wrists and pulls hard against the knots binding him, but they only seem to tighten. The blood rushes in his ears and he can hear his own heart beating wildly. The smell of burning flesh is sickening, but there is something else. Something thick and sweet that sticks in his nostrils. He is suddenly aware that he is not alone on the altar. Though he cannot turn his head, he can hear the fearful cries of his brothers beside him. How will he ever escape this?

The attendants haul him forward towards the priestess. Every muscle in his body aching and his bones are heavy with exhaustion. He looks up at her from his knees, arms still bound behind his back. Her ebony hair is slick with blood and the gold of her necklace shines against pale skin. In one hand she has a long knife with a serrated edge and with the other, she reaches out for him. The crowd of elves below howl and screech like animals. 

The priestess cups his chin with delicate hands, pulling his face forward. She studies his soft elven features, running her fingertips across his jaw and down his neck. He holds his breath, tales of the cruelty of the Druuchi and their bloody handed god of murder running through his mind. He tries once again to pull against his bindings, baring his teeth like a caged animal. Spitting insults between gasps. Unable to catch himself, his face slams into the warmed stone ground at her feet. She smiles mockingly, lifting him to his knees with curious strength. 

“Pitiful elf” she hisses, grabbing a fistful of ashen hair and forcing him still so that she may lick the sweat from his neck. He shudders and writhes trying to escape her touch, kicking and thrashing wildly. She holds him effortlessly. A low guttural growl escaping his lips as she bites down hard, drawing blood from above his collarbone. She pulls back, licking the crimson from her lips and smiling. Seemingly amused at the panicked look on Vaelren’s face. 

He is rather beautiful. The priestess lifts him to his feet and pins him against the stone altar, his skin hot against her chest. He will be fun to break. She crushes her lips against his and pushes her tongue into his mouth. Vaelren’s whole body stiffens. He can taste the metallic taste of his own blood in her kiss. He jerks his head away, frantically eyeing the crowd for someone, anyone to stop this madness. 

Half blinded by the firelight he can barely make out the faces. The crowd had become an orgy of colours. The world spirals and the thick, sweet smoke of the pyre is suffocating him more than the rope around his neck. There must be some dizzying narcotic in the smoke. Some drug to heighten the senses. He is suddenly aware of every sensation. The weight of his linen tunic, the tug of the priestess fingernails on the back of his neck and a low rhythmic chanting from the cloaked attendants. 

Vaelren looks back at the priestess. Her face flecked with blood, flushed and trembling with excitement. She raises her serrated knife “May we appease His thirst for blood” she calles holding it to the sky. It glints in the firelight and the voyeurs shriek in anticipation. With the blade held to his throat, she trails it slowly across his collarbone and down his chest, a thin red line trailing behind it where the sharp point breaks the skin. She could feel his hot breath against her cheek. His eyes wide, watching the blood begin to run from the shallow cut. She holds his chin like a lover and forces him to look at her. He winces and struggles weakly, grinding his teeth in disgust as she laps the blood from his chest. She catches his nipple with pointed teeth and a moan escapes before he can stifle it. “For Khaine!” she shouts and pushes the tip of her knife in deeper. Vaelren calls out in pain and in disappointment at his own weakness. He can feel the warm river of blood running down across his sternum and the cool chalice she presses against his skin to catch the precious offering.

“Submit to me and swear loyalty to Khaine and I may let you live, traitor” she whispers. 

“Never” Valeren growls with the last bit of venom he possesses. “I would rather die.” 

The priestess drinks deeply from the chalice, savoring the sweet nectar. “That can be arranged” she purrs, casting the remaining contents of the chalice into the fire. The crowd below erupts in a fevered chorus and the chanting grows louder. It sounds like a swarm of bees inside of his skull, disorientating and overwhelming. His eyes roll as she yanks his head back, kissing him again, roughly. This time she feels him push his body into hers. She smiles, as he kissed her back hungrily. 

“I want you to beg for your life. I want you to fear me” Her voice is a heady whisper of desire, like a spell lulling him into submission. 

He watches the crowd dancing as she unbuckles his belt and slides her hand inside his clothes. 

The fire flickering in her eyes. He has given up fighting. He can feel her fingernails lightly against his thighs and he can't hold it back. A groan of pleasure escapes as she touches him. 

“Do you want this?” She hisses, not waiting to hear his reply. 

“Your body betrays you, elf”

****

The priestess smiles wickedly, revealing her slightly pointed teeth. She forces her knee between his and presses herself against him, so close he can smell her sickly sweet smell of blood and sex. Her pale skin glistens with beads of sweat from the heat of the pyre and Valeran can feel the wet heat of her cunt against his thigh. With fiery eyes burning into his, she raises her hand to her lips. Sucking her fingers until they are slick with spit. Valeren holds his breath. His fists balled and muscles tensed in horrified anticipation. 

Slowly, the bride of Khaine begins to stroke his cock. She leans in further toward him, biting the point of his elven ear so that he winces with pain. The rhythm of her hand quickening and her thumb teases his tip. He tries to hide his excitement and disgust at himself, but the vapors in the smoke dampen his fear and heighten every pleasurable sensation. He groans loudly into her mass of ebony hair. Every breath of this woman sends blissful shivers down his spine and her touch maddens him until it is all he can think of. 

Valeren breathes in sharply, closing his eyes tight. He pushes his hips against her hand, breathy pleas warming the nape of her neck as he thrusts into her grip. He could bite her hard. He could hurt her, but he chooses not to. "Good boy" she whispers, as if she knows what he is thinking. She withdraws momentary to admire him. The tip of his cock dewy and inviting, his face a picture of pleasure and anguish. He is delicious. She will devour him and make him hers. "You only need to ask and I will give you the release you crave."

The heat of the fire seems to penetrate his very being. His body burns at her touch and his knees feel weak. Every masterful stroke of her hand, every flick of her tongue draws him closer to the precipice. Falling to his knees he calls out to his gods, but his cries fall on deaf ears. Only the sick mocking laughter of the Khainites echo around him. He is lost and there is no one to save him.

Once more the priestess crushes her lips into his, kissing him hungrily. She spits something into his mouth. Something warm and thick. She presses her hand over his lips until he swallows, the warmth travelling down his throat like wine. His eyes roll back as she laps the spilled liquid from his jaw, straddling him so that his erect cock presses against the sheer fabric of her skirt. "Please" he gasps, cheeks flushed with frustration. 

"What do you want?" She purrs. Grinding her hips gently against his. Valeren could feel the tip of his cock pressing against her cunt. He writhes and tugs at his bindings, longing to grip her waist. Needing to thrust himself deep into her and to hear her moan and cry out into the night, but his bindings are tight and he can not free himself. 

"Beg me to let you cum" she whispers. Her hand angling his face up towards her. 

"Please" he repeated. "Give me release."

"And you will be mine?" She smirks. Valeren nods shamefully.

The priestess's grin widens and an animal growl escapes her stained lips. She lowers herself onto the elf's cock. Her throbbing cunt welcomes him. She begins rocking her hips back and forth, her hand pressed against his chest. He can feel her soft pubic hair brushing against him as her movement quickens, her own breath becomes labored. Her fevered moans make his cock twitch and he can feel the peak of pleasure approaching. She cries out like a beast and throws her head back, her cunt tightening as she cums hard. 

"You are a fun plaything." She says, trailing a fingernails down his chest and turning to her attendants "Take him to my chambers."


End file.
